


I Survived

by sansakatara



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: I suck at titles, also im not an Sansan shipper so please do not take this as a shipping fic, because i absolutely hate it, my girl sansa deserves better than to spout dialouge than that, this is a rewrite of that scene in s8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-13
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:41:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23633287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansakatara/pseuds/sansakatara
Summary: "I don't live on maybes."
Relationships: Sandor Clegane & Sansa Stark
Kudos: 10





	I Survived

She isn't sure what compels her to go over.  
After all, there are others she'd rather spend her time with at the feast. With them, she does not have to don the mask of the Lady of Winterfell and can instead be Sansa. But Jon had left, and Arya was not at the celebration tonight- although if there's anyone who deserves to be celebrating it's her sister. Brienne is with the Kingslayer. She had allowed Jaime Lannister to stay only because she had valued Brienne’s word. But she could not forget what Jaime Lannister had done. Some sins marked you forever, Sansa felt. And Theon was gone now. It hurt to remember how the flames consumed his body along with the rest of the fallen, to know that she had never told him how she thought of him as a Stark. But she had gotten used to supping on pain now. 

Once more, this is not Kingslanding where the Lannisters made her a captive twice over. First when Robb rebelled, and once again when Tyrion placed a red Lannister cloak upon her shoulders. A maiden's cloak that made her think in retrospective of Robb and her lady mother, how red the colour of their blood must have been when, when- No, she is not a hostage anymore. She is the Lady of Winterfell, and this is her home. If she wanted to, she could seat herself among any of her men. They would welcome her, shield her in their warmth. Despite this, she weaves her way through the tables; her eyes upon the retreating backs of Tormund and a pretty Wintertown girl. A small smile tug at the corners of her mouth to see them go. 

“She could have made you happy for a while.” Sansa said as she said down on the bench opposite Sandor Clegane.  
Sandor curls his lip.  
“There’s only one thing that could make me happy.”  
Yes, killing your brother. But still, she spoke, to see what he would say. “And what’s that?” She asked, her eyes fixed upon his face.  
“That’s my fucking business.” The Hound snaps. But she does not flinch at either his tone or rough language. She continues looking at him, and she senses his uncertainty.  
“Used to be you couldn’t look at me.” The Hound continues, pouring himself more ale.

That was no lie. The burnt side of his face glimmers in the candle-lit hall, a study in a monstrosity. She remembers the first time glimpsing that face, and the way terror had clenched her stomach. But she has seen and been through too much to be affected anymore.  
That is the answer she gives him, guarded in courtesy. “That was a long time ago.’’  
“Yes, I’ve heard what happened to you.” The Hound replies casually. “Heard you got broken in.”  
She does not rise at his flippant words. “And he got what he deserved.” She says just as casually. A man who had tortured Theon and murdered Rickon. Before the battle, Ramsay had boasted of how he intended to use those deliberately starved creatures on Jon when the Bolton’s prevailed. When instead they had won and Ramsay had been captured, Sansa gave him the fate he had meant for Jon. Hearing the sound of those creatures rip into the flesh of that monster had been so sweet to hear. What made his death even more satisfying was knowing that it was she who engineered it. Not like with the death of her other tormentor Joffrey Baratheon, with whom she had been used by others unknowingly to murder at his own wedding. 

“How?” The Hound asks.  
“Hounds.” She says simply. The Hound laughs; her words are not lost on him. She smiles a little at this.  
The Hound sighs. “You’ve changed, little bird. None of it would have happened if you left Kingslanding with me. No Littlefinger, no Ramsay.” His tone is a mixture of sympathy and admiration, but Sansa wants neither.  
She turns away for a moment, before turning back to look at him. She needed to look him in the eyes when she said this. "Perhaps. And maybe I would have died on the Kingsroad with you- we might have been attacked and I would have gotten my throat slit. Or maybe I would have been reunited with my mother and brother, only to die with them at the Twins.  
I don’t live on maybes. I can't change what happened, but what I do know is that I survived." She thinks of how she still has nightmares of Ramsay, and how she cannot bear to be in a locked room for long periods of time. She thinks of Littlefinger and all his betrayals. Ramsay had tried to destroy her, and Littlefinger had tried to use her for his own ends while still somehow believing that he actually loved her, but she had still survived. They were both dead, both their Houses extinguished whereas for Sansa and House Stark- the wolves had come again.


End file.
